


Break in Two

by icarus_chained



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Caring, Craftsmen, M/M, Moonlight, Outdoor Sex, Roughness, Strength, warriors - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:25:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarus_chained/pseuds/icarus_chained
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little interlude between Dori and Dwalin. There is a certain amount of craft in the breaking of things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break in Two

**Author's Note:**

> I was clearing out my 'fic fragments' folder, and there were a couple of usable things in it, so I thought I'd just post them up? *grins sheepishly*

Dori snarled furiously, his hands scoring lines down the mail on Dwalin's back, heaving upwards on a sob of breath. Dwalin hung on for his life, his own hands tight and desperate in the unbraided hair at Dori's nape, his head thrown back and the moonlight wild and silver against his closed, desperate eyelids. Dori snarled into his shoulder, a shuddering heave, and abruptly spent himself, breaking forwards like a mountainside giving way.

And in the silence afterwards, with only their paired, ruined breathing for company, with the tree against his back and the wetness where they were joined beneath his hauberk, and the wild moonlight to bear sole witness ... Dwalin laughed. Bright and hoarse and utterly, desperately delighted.

"You ... you know," he murmured, rich and thick while he waited to regain enough feeling in his legs to lower them, and stand on his own two feet. "They told me that anyone who saw Dori son of Vestri with his hair unbraided would be dead before the night was out. That the strongest dwarf in Ered Luin would break you in two, and leave you for dead for having seen him." He chuckled, rich and warm, threading his fingers through loose, fine silver. Treasure beyond price. "This wasn't quite what they meant, I'll wager."

Dori snorted raggedly, drawing his head back to glare up at Dwalin, his arm tight around a mailed waist as he pulled carefully free and lowered his partner to the ground. 

"Let me get my breath back, and I'll break you the other way, if you like?" he offered, panting slightly as he drew back and looked down in mild dismay at the tangle of his beard. Muttering under his breath as he fished out a spare end of cloth to mop them up. "Honestly, that was _one dwarf_ , and he'd tried to stab me in the baths, it had nothing to _do_ with my braids." He growled, an odd counterpoint to the easy gentleness of his hands as he laced Dwalin back up. "When I catch up to whoever started that bloody story, in Mahal's name, I _swear_ ..."

The shock as Dwalin's lips crushed to his shut him up, save for a startled 'Erk!' as he jerked back, and then a sigh as he moved forward again. Dwalin grinned, bright and savage, and let the hot rush of delight race back through him as those so-powerful hands crushed to his elbows, and that body pushed him back against the tree.

"... You can break me any way you like," he whispered, molten silver in Dori's ear as they broke for air, and tapped armoured fingers gently against the unbound strands still trailing across the other dwarf's cheek. "Or you can try, at least." He smiled, fierce and soft into the stunned, covetous hope in Dori's gaze, tracing his hand gently down the line of that cheek. "Ain't been afraid of fighting in a long time, Dori son of Vestri. Keep that in mind, eh?"

"... _Mahal_ ," Dori breathed. He ducked his head into Dwalin's shoulder, his shoulders shaking faintly, and Dwalin gripped at his belt, wrapped his hands around the other dwarf's waist and pulled him closer. Not the heat of before, it was far too soon for that, but simply for the warmth and the solidity of his presence. Simply to have that trembling body between his hands.

He'd never been a craftsman, Dwalin. Never quite had the knack for the shaping of things between his hands, as Thorin or Bifur did. It was fighting he'd been made for, a warrior through and through, and it was a breaking more than a making that lived in his curled hands. Breaking, or being broken. He'd been made for that, he'd lived for that, and never once had he been afraid of it.

Now, with Dori's great hands around his arms, with a trembling, shattered body between his own and a stream of unbound, unshaped silver across his knuckles, he wondered if there wasn't a certain craft to that, too. Breaking and being broken, piercing clean in two. The shuddering heaves of shared breath, the trembling strength of a body laid low. With Dori's raw chuckle at his throat, he thought that the joy of a strength without fear might be as well-shaped a thing as any other.

"Yes," he decided, leaning into the strength that bore him up, and the softness of unbraided hair. "You can break me any way and any time you like."

And Dori raised his head, and Dori grinned fiercely at him in the moonlight, and Dori answered:

"Don't mind if I do, then. Don't mind if I do."


End file.
